


Whose Turn Is It To Be Rescued This Time? Part Two

by sg_wonderland



Series: Training: the SG-1 Version [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_wonderland/pseuds/sg_wonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The training, from another point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whose Turn Is It To Be Rescued This Time? Part Two

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Stargate SG-1 team (any variation) - whose turn is it to be rescued this time? Same scene, just a different POV

Whose Turn Is It To Be Rescued This Time?  
Part II

 

“Okay, here’s the plan. We go up the stairwell, get off on Level 28. Cryder and Garth, you go down Corridor C, give us five minutes then use the ladder to backtrack down to Level 27. Cho and I will take the main Corridor and we’ll meet at the auxiliary elevator near the General’s office. O’Neill and SG-1 will almost certainly be guarding the office so be prepared to take them down. Any questions?” I crouch on the cramped Level Nineteen landing beside my teammates. We know each other from the academy but we’ve been a team a scant ninety minutes due to a pre-testing name draw.

“Sir, I mean, ma’am, I mean…” Cho mumbles.

“What, Cho?”

“Are we sure SG-1 are the bad guys in this scenario?”

Cryder snorts loudly. “They’re the bad guys everytime. Why would this be any different?”

“To throw us off our game?” Lt. Garth suggests, shifting her long legs. 

“Because Colonel O’Neill is a sneaky bastard who loves to shoot cadets, that’s why!” I hiss. “Go and keep your heads up. I don’t want to be the first team to be taken down. Go.” 

*

This, I realize, was just too damned easy. We’ve made it to Level 27 without any trouble, without any opposition. I use my scope to peer around the corner. There’s a body sprawled in front of O’Neill’s office. Forcing myself to stay calm, I watch long enough to satisfy myself that the person is unconscious. Focusing the scope allows me to get a better look. Clearly male, brown haired, I silently, viciously, curse the fact that he is lying on his right side so I can’t see his team designation, his jacket obscures his left arm so it’s impossible to determine who he is or what threat he poses.

I shuffle back to kneel, giving myself time to decide what course of action to take.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” I whisper to Cho. “There’s a man down in front of O’Neill’s office. It could be one of ours or it could be a trap. I’m going to investigate. Watch our six.” Hoping he’s behind me, I slide around the corner and approach cautiously.

“It’s Dr. Jackson!” Cho sounds relieved. “Wonder who shot him?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I snap, with some relief of my own. This is one less enemy I have to worry about. Not that I was too worried about him, he isn’t military, after all. “Come on.”

“You mean, we’re just going to leave him? What if he’s, like, really hurt?”

“I just told you I don’t care. I’m not losing this challenge because of some civilian with a bunch of letters after his name.”

The softly drawled, “Really?” registers a split-second too late in my mind. By the time I process what’s happening and clumsily bring my weapon up to bear, Cho’s down and I feel the intar pressed firmly in my breastbone. My last coherent vision is a pair of oddly familiar cool blue eyes and the overhead fluorescent lights.

*

My first thought on waking is that I’m not sure what hurts worse, my head, my chest or my entire body as I’m dragged across the concrete floor and into an office.

“Dammit, Daniel, do you have to keep shooting them at point blank range?” That sounds an awful lot like O’Neill’s voice somewhere above so I’m assuming he is the one doing the dragging. I am still too groggy to fight when I find myself slung up on a bunk and feel something cool and metal encircle one wrist before I hear two distinctive metal snaps.

“No, Jack, I don’t have to. I just do it because it’s so damn much fun!” Jackson sounds decidedly short-tempered. I don’t know what he has to be mad about, he isn’t the one who’s been shot and handcuffed to a narrow bunk.

“Ziegfield, wake up, Ziegfield!” My cheek is tapped with a fair amount of force.

“It’s Ziegler, Jack. I don’t know why you can’t keep anyone’s name straight.” There’s a bit of give on my mattress. “Come on, Ziegler, wake up before he decides to use water torture on you.”

I reluctantly do and realize why those eyes looked vaguely familiar earlier. “You zatted me, sir?” I ask inanely.

“Well,” he shrugs, “I wouldn’t say I zatted you. It was actually an intar.” His smile is oddly cheerful.

“Daniel, quit flirting with the prisoners. Ziegman, you two are officially dead for the rest of the challenge. I’ve marked the door. Water on the bedside table, use the phone to call an SF if you need the bathroom. Come on, Daniel, we gotta take out the rest of the team.” O’Neill drags a protesting Jackson out the door.

“Great, just great.” I let my head flop down on my pillow. “I’m never going to live this one down. They’ll wash me out for sure.”

“For getting shot by one of SG-1? Man, that’s like getting kissed by Elvis or something!” Cho rolls over on his bunk, as well as he can with the handcuff.

“Shut up, Cho.”


End file.
